Domestika
by Praxis Antigone
Summary: A collection of intimate events that never happened, nor ever would happen, where love was never a struggle. Inspired by Vespertine.
1. Hidden Place

Hidden Place

She shushes.

His hands cover his ears as instructed. What he hears from the hollow sound within his palms was the bawling heartbeat being restrained. Hands pushed further against. It was reducing the blockage of his beating. It was not normal – the palpitation. Almost like, a rhythm of a deep bass noise. The creeks in his palm tickled.

A right index is brought to her lips.

A large rock behind her is shaded with strings of leaves. Behind the green lush is a lack of light. A limitless rock. But she moves back, because she knows the rock cannot stop her. And the leaves are pushed back. He follows her with cautious steps with the assumption that he could join. She is taken in, soon along with he.

The question of how could a rock, a large one but not _large_ enough is feckless. And so was the sun's light being reversed for the moon's shine that endeavored luminous connection between itself and the pool beneath.

His hands were flat on his hips long ago. A sea water cave.

She smiles because she has discovered with him. Her finger digs the area of his heart; the rhythmic key.

"Found it."

Then she mocks what she felt, what he felt; what she heard, what he heard. "_Do…do do do, do do_."

He is not sure what do with it. He looks to her, who is covered, like the walls of rock, with light shadows mimicking the sway of the pool. But these shadows, seemingly, though not devious, releases her cloak.

Simply suggesting.

His is released too. Her aqua eyes glitter with a strong enticing smirk. The breeze of air whispers to her hair that carries a heavy amount of volume than usual. She regresses like before, with he following suit. The water jolts beneath their feet. They stand between the open rock revealing the moon, and the deep azure pool tickling their feet.

Just for them, to be hidden under a blanket. The tips of their fingers greet each other.

And they drop whilst pulling each other close, every stub of his hair piercing against her own. Her leg wraps around his waist before being fully consumed. Under the moon, under the water, they decline into the abyss. Her skin is the shade of a pearl. The strands of her hair ablaze in water. He is only dark and divine. A hand that was once calloused when not touched by the water, settles on her lower back, and another cups the side of her torso with a thumb nudging her breast. They close, savoring their infinite oxygen.

He felt _it_, often pondering what to do with the petrifying emotion. So she sought for their solace and sanctuary.

Does this exist? A feckless query.

Their hidden place determined their quality of life.

* * *

Scenario 1 - "Hidden Place" by Bjork  
Two people can create a paradise.


	2. Cocoon

Cocoon

It was not the night after, yet.

She does not recognize this place, but it is calm enough. She strides along the stones of ground with hands clasped behind her. She remembers not too long ago, sharing her core.

Amazing, how could a man like him?

She needs a quiescent moment. She figures that she could be broken, or she could be hurt. But she knew that he would never allow it. He made sure it was ever so lightly. It fascinated her, how plush this rock was. And even in her break she remains pleasant and surprised.

Freckles of snowflake fall on her shoulders and collarbone. It cools her burning skin, but the wind is hot against her face while it ruffles her thick hair. The weather – the sensations were not something she was used to, or trained to experience. Wasted bills for a flopped path.

Her legs become weary; she cannot keep them up anymore. She nearly tumbles…she…

_Hold on._

She straightens herself. Everything was becoming harsher and harder. It has entered lightly, again.

How could a man like him? The walking myth whose heart was turned to black and whose hands never known anything other than a petty weapon used to destroy, kill. The shadows always followed him. The sun never wanted to reveal itself in his presence. The air was always prickly cold when the snake slithered.

But it was warm here, near burning. No shadows; a sun. Her legs give away and her knees kiss the ground. She groans as the dirt push into her nails. Her mouth stays agape with hair now matte on her forehead. She could become fully-awake in any moment. She wants to hold on. She loves his power over her dreams.

She turns onto her back, her hands clutching at the flesh of her stomach, the bliss bubbling inside. She thinks about him more; how loving and full of surprise he is. She loves to underestimate him. It's better to never read him. His unexpectedness always helps create…something good.

It's amazing! This is new! She hears him, until…

Her jittering stops. Her legs lay still and she huffs hot breaths.

And then there was rain; sprinkles hitting at her lubricated.

When she is fully awake, she is teased. But then he asks why did she not open her eyes. Had she not enjoyed it? He wonders for regrets, so he could conclude to forget and learn. But a finger smoothly glides across his jaw. Her expression, a lovely one, answers his worried questions.

"You were just as half-awake, half-asleep with me. It was something beyond that I wanted to feel."

He never knew just how much power…

He remains quiet and instead looks away and down to wipe her train of pearls.

He is still inside of her, the two fainting back into sleephood. Stay going nowhere.

* * *

Scenario 2 - "Cocoon" by Bjork

Help creating a euphoric dream.


	3. It's Not Up To You

It's Not Up To You

It was embarrassing for young Silverburgh to realize that not all love would be accepted. And she feared it too - the rejection and possible doubt.

The older Silverburgh too, listened to the stories of the war veteran in charge of Foxhound. What the men did and were praised for left her in disgust. She found it rather irksome that the two Campbell brothers embraced the crimes of war. And it frightened her when father Campbell told bedtime stories to their daughter; tales of the men of war, adjusting the brutal status to that of a hero. She was eager to pull her daughter away, but too late she was. The young girl was already fascinated with the military and replacing Barbies with GI Joes figures. The young Silverburgh wished to be like them. And it pained the young one's mother. She would hate to detest her own daughter.

So when her mother discovers that her daughter has been further tainted by a dog of war, she rages. And this dog she always figured to be demonic and devoid of any emotion. What was committed on the battlefield was enough to justify her opinion that he was a beast. A man, dog, beast who could have so much power to pervert her daughter. Her daughter complains of pain in the abdominal. When she is sent to be healed, she is redirected elsewhere whose medical practices are more revealing and truthful to the cause of pain. So the mother rages and releases a struck upon her daughter.

The young Silverburgh is driven away from embarrassment. What was thought to be dark came to the light. She runs to her only acceptance. When she reaches him, he is alert when he see the change of color on her cheek. She does not cry, because she hates crying in front of him. With fake pride she announces that she was in a fight. She rummages through the fridge as he speaks to her, but she is distracted by the coolness against her cheek. He pulls her arm to grab her attention. He already knows her eyes and what they speak.

"You're a lousy liar, just like your Uncle."

She has no other choice but to rant. She doesn't understand what the big deal was and how her mother could do such a thing. Her cheek hurts, her stomach hurts, and she doesn't see why she has to go through so much pain for love. And he will run away because of her pain.

He denies that he will ever do such a thing. He was a man who believed in choices, not fate or destiny. But _this_...he had no other choice but to accept.

"I don't have a choice," he admits. "It's not up to us. It never really was."

She feels comforted and resolved. She doesn't know what to expect the next day, or when to brace for another blow, but she realizes that pain was to come when you awake from a day without control. The struggle wouldn't be as harsh anymore.

* * *

Scenario 3 "It's Not Up To You" by Bjork

Go with the flow, it's not up to you


	4. Undo

Undo 

It was not meant to be a struggle. No, in fact, there was not suppose to be anything! Only a mutual understanding that her relation to the Colonel meant that further bonding between the teen and snake was considered a _no-no_. They understood that she was only to speak to the man when military acronyms, utilities, and steps of combat confused her. A once in a lifetime opportunity was to be taken seriously and nothing _other_ was to be of focus. But no one could have known...

Because she sneakily questions him about politics. He tells her stories and secrets of careless politicians, NASA, and the CIA. And she was left too amazed and often disgusted, and swore to keep the conversation A and B only. During their next meeting of training, brought with her was a Sociology textbook.

"Got a question for you."

He knew of her plans and went along with it. He will answer as many.

The structure of society replaces politics, and eventually the eager discussion of schooling did. She arrived late one day, clothed in her private schooling's uniform: blue plaid skirt and red tie hanging on top her freshly white buttoned shirt. She asks to change, and when given the answer of "yes" she directs herself to his bedroom. But the tricky naive man assumes that a bedroom could not possibly give enough space for a teenager's private matters.

When he re-enters prematurely, he sees her, not nude but devoid of anything to privatize her delicate regions from his wondrous mind.

"I am almost out of school," she calls out, removing her thin itchy bra from underneath her training sports one.

His sweaty hand tightens into a fist. His back was turned to her when he looks over his shoulder to meet eye to eye with a ready Meryl. "How much sooner?"

She smiles graciously. "Soon." She approaches him, rolling her shoulders and popping her knuckles. "Hopefully I will still be here, yeah?" she pats his arm until his hand holds hers in place.

"Don't come here so eager," he warns with an incomprehensible face she had never seen. He settles her hand against her hip and moves away from the thick tension he created. She stands a few feet behind him, watching him slouch on the sofa counting the flakes of snow settle on his window.

"You're trying too hard. I'm just as good as you are," she sternly says without trying to make her whining evident. No one would know until they wanted them to _know_. It is she who makes the move to push forward with the cessation of pointless struggles.

There was a burst of intensity they nearly regretted feeling. It was overwhelming! The strife created because of...petty fear?

They are clenching each other's clothes and pinching skin. She tastes the ash of a cigarette on his tongue - tasting what was forbidden by Colonel, her mother, and outsiders. She is on top with knees caging his hips, clawing at the barrier between them. His nails leaves a trail of red lines that eventually frees just _one_ from her training sports bra. He was lost and oblivious in his own desires. His focus was withering from the jerk of her hips as she tried with might to release the two of them.

He has missed her - her tears, the whip of her hair, and how she hurried fast, because she too, never knew how much time they had.

But it was better to never be left undone.

* * *

Scenario 4 "Undo" by Bjork

When you are struggling, undo


End file.
